I spent the first of this year driving from Portland to Takilmah, Oregon with my good friend Mia (aka the Business Casual Backpacker). It has always been a fantasy for me to stay in a house in the trees: maybe primordial, maybe a past life to animal regression. It wasn’t the kitsch factor, or some sort of log cabin lust. Although I do think it had a bit to do with the literature of my youth: Caddie Woodlawn, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Scott O’Dell’s Island of the Blue Dolphins, Swiss Family Robinson and Robinson Crusoe. At a very young age I was familiar with how to make pemmican and weave a mat out of reeds. Part girl scout, part restless mind. There are certain types of air: moist, grassy, pine scented, mineral rich dirt particles, fresh oxygen and chlorophyll that strikes deep into the soul of my child-self. I also associate this state of mind with a certain type of cloud cover, as a child growing up in MIssissippi, when it would rain an epic storm in the afternoon and then the sun would come out between still charcoal clouds, I named this God Sky. The rays of sunlight that broke through the gray blue bruise of a storm was a message from God. (The message: “Hello, little girl”) A caress, a reminder. My earliest bouts of curiousity were with the bend in a creek, what the air would do next. When the sun is hot and the grass under my feet is cool, is a delicacy I can almost taste in my mouth.
So, I had wanted to go to the “Treesort” in Takilmah for about a year, it was one of the mental boondoggles I am prone to, the research and then the addition to a pie in the sky list of things I want to do before I die. Many are simple (riding horses again, and maybe taking some small jumps), some too far away (tea in the sahara), staying in a treehouse was precisely on my path. With a wonderment of luck, I rejoiced. Hallelujah for houses in the trees!
The Peacock Perch, which Mia and I stayed in after our harrowing encounter with the Forresttree. The owner called us wussies. But hey, we wanted a good night’s sleep.
View out of the window was quite mossy:
Moody morning in Oregon, but quite beautiful:
This Studebaker was left with papers and one glove in the front seat.
Horses eating breakfast.
Overall, a totally wonderful experience which I would recommend to anyone. They also do ropes courses, but if I were you I would wear a helmet.